


hearts breaking even

by estrella30



Category: One Direction, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Futurefic where Jensen Ackles and Harry Styles meet in a bar in LA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hearts breaking even

**Author's Note:**

> so I was on twitter the other night, AS ONE DOES, and I said something about Harry being the little black dress of 1D and how he needs to have sex with everyone and that just...lead to this.
> 
>  
> 
> anyway, in my head this harry is about 25 or so and has already succeeded in making his arm into a full sleeve of dumb tattoos just because I think that would be hot. ngl, this is possibly the most ridiculous pairing I've ever written, and I once wrote sam winchester fucking a paddle boat so. take that as you will. 
> 
> thanks to teaboytoaliens for the beta! any remaining mistakes are my own :D

*

The bar is one of the worst ones Steve’s ever played at – filled with obnoxious hipster types and douchebags - a fact which Jensen plans on using to his advantage to get free drinks for the rest of the night. The bartender saunters over with his artfully ripped jeans and t-shirt, and Jensen rolls his eyes so far back he can almost see the inside of his skull.

“You good?” The bartender asks. 

Jensen nods and grins as he points to the stage. “Yep. Just make sure to put it all on that guy’s tab, okay? He’s paying tonight.” The bartender nods and walks off, and Jensen laughs as he leans back on his barstool, the front legs tilting up off the floor. He takes a long pull from his beer before giving Steve a wink where he’s setting up. 

“Don’t worry, Jen,” Steve calls out sarcastically. “You just sit back and relax.” He shakes his head and his hair goes flying. “I don’t need any help; I’m good. I’ve got it all taken care of up here by myself.” 

“Good to hear,” Jensen says and salutes him with his bottle. 

The jukebox clicks over into something Jensen thinks he knows but he’s not sure about. It sounds familiar – maybe something from the radio a few years back – but he can’t quite hold it down in his head, and to be honest, he doesn’t really care to try. Jensen would be just as happy sitting on his own couch right now, drinking his own beer and going to bed by 10:30. He’s not, though, so he’s going to try and make the best of it.

Because he’s here, and that's the important thing. Steve had wanted him to come and didn’t care much what Jensen thought about the idea because Steve is Steve – once he gets his mind set on something there’s no real way to shake him off. Plus, if Jensen didn’t say yes there was the chance that Steve would call Chris, who would just track him down anyway, or worse, call _Jared_ and Jared might even call Chad and fuck. Jensen shudders because even after all these years, Chad isn’t anyone he wants to spend time with without getting paid for it. 

So he’s here and it’s fine. He’s drinking his beer and trying not to look too interested in the ridiculous crowd that are filtering in from the side door to the bar; a bunch of scraggly looking guys with their hair shoved into douchey hats and girls that look casual in the most overdone way possible. Rips in t-shirts don’t count if you make them yourself, Jensen thinks, and he smirks around the mouth of his bottle. He’s trying not judge everyone in here too harshly, but come on, what the fuck was Steve _thinking_?

“You need another yet?” the bartender asks, and Jensen nods. He lets the legs of the barstool fall flat to the floor, and it makes a thump loud enough grab the attention of the kid sitting a few seats down, causing him to look up and glance in Jensen’s direction with curious eyes. 

“Sorry,” Jensen says. The kid shrugs a shoulder and looks back down at his drink as the bartender drops Jensen’s beer off, his fingers slipping over the condensation on the bottle. He takes a long pull as the song on the jukebox clicks over, and it’s finally something Jensen knows and likes and wants to pay attention to. He hums along to the first few bars, and when the bartender catches his eye and gives him a _look_ , Jensen rolls his eyes and says, “Cut me a break, man, it’s the first decent song I’ve heard all night.”

The bartender is unimpressed. “You should talk to Harry,” he says, jerking his head at the kid who looked up when Jensen banged his chair. “He’s friends with Sheeran; he can probably tell you all about him.”

Jensen looks over at the guy – Harry, his brain reminds him - and narrows his eyes a bit, because now that Jensen’s looking, he looks almost familiar. He’s younger than Jensen, with pale skin and huge eyes and a lot of hair that he does this weird shaking thing to before pushing it off his forehead every few minutes. He’s wearing a black Ramones t-shirt (Jensen would bet his next paycheck, whenever it comes, that the kid was nowhere _near_ alive when the Ramones were around making music – but that seems to be the theme in this bar, so he’s not really surprised) and his left arm is covered from the edge of his shirt sleeve down to his wrist in tattoos. 

There’s something strangely familiar about him, though. Jensen would actually think he’s seen or met Harry before, but when he looks at Jensen there’s no flick of recognition on his face, either, so probably not. 

“You know Ed Sheeran?” Jensen asks him curiously. He has to pitch his voice a little louder because the music is on, and the bar is getting more and more crowded, people getting close to the back of Jensen’s chair and filtering in from around the sides. 

Harry smiles, and Jensen takes in the way his eyes light up and a dimple presses deep into his cheek, and _fuck_. “He’s one of my best mates, yeah,” Harry says around a thick British accent, and it hits Jensen like a sack of bricks. Between the accent and the smile and the name – Jensen barks out a laugh and shakes his head. 

“Holy shit,” he says, sliding out of his chair to go over and shake Harry’s hand. “You’re in that band, right? The one that went crazy a few years ago?” Jensen never listened to them himself, but he definitely remembers then being around, some kind of British boy band phenomenon or something. 

“One Direction, yeah,” Harry says. He drops his voice and leans in close to say in Jensen’s ear. “But don’t say it too loud if you can, it’ll ruin my cool reputation here.”

Jensen slides onto the empty seat next to Harry’s in time to hear the bartender laugh and toss a dirty bar rag at Harry’s head. “I keep telling you that you don’t _have_ a cool reputation here, Styles,” he says, and what the fuck, what is Jensen’s life that he’s listening to Steve’s band in a crappy bar in LA on a Saturday night with popstar from a _boyband_? 

“Oi!” Harry shouts. “I’ve got a cool reputation!” The bartender just laughs again and raises an eyebrow as he wanders off to get someone else a drink. 

Jensen tilts his chair so he’s sitting with his side to the bar half-facing Harry, and Harry grins a little and sips his drink before he says, “So, you like Ed’s music?” 

“He’s great,” Jensen says honestly, because he does. “Amazing singer and songwriter.”

Harry smiles slowly. “He’s amazing. Wrote a bunch of tracks for me and my band on our first few albums,” he says slowly. Jensen’s having a hard time following what Harry’s saying, his voice is so quiet and low, and he leans in even closer, his ear right next to Harry’s mouth. “He’s great though; I’ve been staying with him for a while since I got out to LA.”

“So you just moved out here?” Jensen asks. He finds himself sliding closer and closer to Harry, really interested for the first time in a long while in what someone has to say. Sure, the kid is a lot younger than him, but he’s already been more famous than Jensen will ever be, and he seems like its matured Harry somehow; this doesn’t feel like what he imagines talking to any other twenty-something year old would. 

They talk for a few more minutes – Jensen telling Harry that he’s only there to see his best friend, and Harry explaining that Ed had actually told Harry to go to the bar to hear Steve play, something that Jensen thinks is one of the coolest things ever – and they get another round of drinks and are laughing at the horrible pop garbage someone keeps playing on the jukebox when Harry slides off his barstool and leans in close to Jensen’s ear. 

“I’ve got to run to the loo, yeah?” he says. 

Jensen nods and waves him away. “Go. I’ll be here.”

“Great. Cheers,” Harry says. He takes a step away then turns around and comes back, his mouth curling up in a slow grin. “Sorry, mate, I just realized I didn’t even get what you’re called yet.”

Jensen puzzles it out for a second until he realizes that Harry means his name, and shit, has he really been sitting here with this kid for over an hour and never even introduced himself?

“Shit, sorry,” he says and holds out a hand. “’S’a little late for this, but I’m Jensen, nice to meet you.”

Harry shakes his hand, his fingers curling around Jensen’s for just a split second too long, and Jensen looks up and really _notices_ Harry’s face and eyes and smile and _fuck_. 

“All right,” Harry says quietly. “I’ll be right back.”

Jensen nods and slumps back in his seat when Harry walks away, and when the bartender passes by again he gets them two more rounds each. He has a feeling he’s going to need it. 

*

Steve’s set is fantastic, just like Jensen knew it would be. Harry seemed impressed that Steve called Jensen up to sing with him on stage, and when he got back to his seat, face heated and flushed from the overhead lights, Harry was waiting with a drink and a hard slap to the back, dipping his head in to say, “You’re bloody fantastic,” against Jensen’s ear. 

And the thing is… the thing is, Jensen really _likes_ Harry. He’s funny and easy to talk to and knows about music and they have a lot of the same taste in things and just… it’s nice. It’s nice to have someone to talk to that Jensen doesn’t know so well. To hang out with someone who doesn’t know Jensen from before – all the bad parts and hurt parts and rough parts. All Harry knows is who Jensen is tonight, right now, and for the moment, that’s all Jensen really wants to be. 

“All right, so what about this one?” Jensen asks, shoving Harry’s shirt higher up over his shoulder, the thin cotton bunching under his fingers. They’re sitting in a quiet corner of the bar now, Steve and most of the others already cleared out and on their way to the next party of the night. Jensen had asked Harry if he wanted to leave, but Harry just watched him curiously, his eyes serious, and told him no, that he wanted to stay where they were. Jensen’s not sure how he started asking Harry about his tattoos, but he thinks he picked one at random and it’s just kind of gone on from there.

“That’s my sister’s name,” Harry says. Jensen has to lean even closer to understand Harry, his voice is so thick and quiet. “In Hebrew. It’s one of the first ones I got.”

“What’s the first one?”

Harry raises his left arm over his head, and Jensen tries not to notice the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders, or how it lifts up from the waist of his jeans enough so Jensen can see the barest hint of skin. Harry points to a thick black star and says, “This one, and then the words under it.”

Jensen nods and before he realizes what he’s doing he reaches out and traces the sharp edges of the star with his finger. Harry shivers and Jensen thinks about moving his hand back, away from Harry’s skin, but then decides: _fuck it_ and drags his finger down into the crook of Harry’s elbow.

“What about this one?” he asks again, and every time Harry has an answer. _This is an A for my mum, my mate Zayn designed it_ , or _this is a three for when our third album went platinum_ , or _this is a bird because for a solid eight months we did nothing but fly_. 

Jensen thinks that is must be nice, to have every joy and accomplishment and heartache inked on your skin. He wonders what his would look like if he’d done the same; if he’d had pictures for Texas and his family and Jared down his arms and over the backs of his shoulders. He wonders what it would have been like to have Danneel drawn across his chest for a while, but tattoos are permanent; there’s no way to erase them or take them back, so that wouldn’t have worked that well at all.

Jensen thinks he doesn’t need the tattoos, not really. He understands why Harry does it, but Jensen can feel the marks of everything from his life living under his skin every day. He doesn’t need it drawn on the outside as well. 

He gets to Harry’s wrist and flips it over, his fingers pressing under the band of Harry’s watch. “I can’t change?” Jensen asks. 

Harry shivers a little. “Just a reminder,” Harry says, pulling his hand away. Jensen looks up and catches his eye, and there’s something there that he can’t read. “It was hard for a while,” Harry explains. “It’s easy to get lost sometimes and I just… didn’t want to.”

“Did you manage?” Jensen asks quietly.

Harry watches him with curious eyes, and Jensen feels himself sway forward a little in his chair. He can smell Harry’s cologne and feel his heat, and Jensen doesn’t know how this happened or why now or why he wants it, but when he looks up Harry is still watching him, his eyes dark and his chest hitching. 

He leans forward and curls his fingers around Jensen’s thigh and when he says against Jensen’s ear, “I think I did, yeah,” his hair tickles Jensen’s skin. 

Jensen hesitates, and it hits him like a punch to the gut that he _wants_ Harry. He wants to push his shirt up and yank his jeans down and see if Harry’s hips fit as perfectly in Jensen’s hands as he thinks they will. Jensen looks up and licks his lips and waits a second to make sure he’s reading this right because he hasn’t really done this in a long fucking time – but Harry just grins and stands up and pulls Jensen after him and into the small bathroom at the end of the hall. 

*

The men’s room is small and cramped, but it’s also empty and has a lock on the door, so it’s perfect as far as Jensen is concerned. It’s been a long damn time since he’s gotten off in a bar with someone he’s just met, and he tries not to think about that too much, about how he’s here again, doing this all over, but then Harry smiles at him, his dimples pressing hard into his cheeks and Jensen thinks: _fuck it_. He shoves Harry inside and Harry laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his face lighting up and something twists deep in Jensen’s chest because Harry is just so _happy_. 

“Get the lock,” Harry says, and Jensen flicks the button in the doorknob and slides the deadbolt at the top, and Harry is on him the minute he turns around. 

Harry tilts Jensen’s head to the side and then he’s licking into his mouth, his lips sticky from whiskey, teeth sharp when they bite down on Jensen’s bottom lip. Jensen twists his hands into Harry’s hair, and Harry grunts and leans into him harder, his body all sharp angles and long muscles, and it’s good, it’s so goddamn good Jensen can’t even think straight. 

“Do you—“ Harry starts, but Jensen licks into his mouth again to get him to stop talking. He just – he doesn’t want to talk or think too much, or wonder why he’s doing this – he just wants Harry’s hands on him, just wants to lose himself in the way he’s gripping Jensen’s shoulders to pull him closer, his thigh shoved hard between Jensen’s legs. 

Harry grunts and pulls his mouth away to breathe wet and hot against Jensen’s neck. “I want to suck you,” he says thickly.

Jensen can feel the flutter of Harry’s eyelashes against his neck, and he pulls Harry up to kiss him again as he whispers, “Yeah. Yeah, definitely.”

Harry smiles, a huge fucking grin on his face as he drops to his knees and fumbles with Jensen’s belt and jeans. Jensen doesn’t know how Harry can look so relaxed about giving a blowjob in a crappy bar’s men’s room, but if Harry’s all right with it, then Jensen is, too. Harry breathes a warm puff of air against Jensen’s stomach and then he finally gets everything undone and is shoving Jensen’s jeans and boxers down his thighs, his mouth wrapping around him, slick and tight and hot. 

Jensen slams a fist back against the door and Harry laughs, the vibrations curling around his dick, and Jensen’s chest feels too tight, his lungs too full to breathe. Harry sucks him harder, his fingers digging into Jensen’s thighs, and Jensen threads his fingers in Harry’s hair and pulls tight when Harry fucking _whimpers_ as he’s sucking him. 

He feels Harry’s hand drop off his leg and hears the pop and hiss that must be Harry opening his own jeans and shoving them down and as much as Jensen is enjoying his blowjob, watching the curve and shake of Harry’s shoulder as he starts to jerk himself off is almost too much. 

“Fuck, Harry, just – c’mere, stand up,” Jensen says and pulls back, his dick sliding out of Harry’s mouth. Harry’s lips are pink and obscenely wet, and his eyes are huge, pupils blown wide and dark. He looks wrecked already, and Jensen can’t believe how much he just wants to _touch_ him. 

Jensen pulls Harry in with a hand on his waist and their thighs slot together, dicks wet and messy. It’s been so long since Jensen’s wanted this - since he’s let himself want this - and he pushes Harry’s hand out of the way to curl his fingers around the both of them. Harry gasps and moans, lays his teeth hard into Jensen’s shoulder. 

“Oh, oh _god_ ,” Harry whines. His voice shakes a little as he says, “I want – can I—“ and then his hand is on top of Jensen’s, squeezing harder and speeding up the pace. Harry’s breath is hot and damp, and he tucks his nose into the curve of Jensen’s jaw, and it’s too much all at once. Too much feeling and trying not to think, and it’s nothing Jensen ever thought he would want, nothing he ever thought he’d have to do again, but it’s good for now. It’s what he has and he’s happy for it, and it all starts to blur together, the drinks and the music and Harry. Harry’s face and his laugh and the way Jensen just _likes_ him, and then it’s nothing but heat and mouths and Harry’s teeth in Jensen’s lip as Jensen makes him come. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry mutters, and it doesn’t take much more – a few quick strokes and Harry leaning in to bite at Jensen’s jaw - and he’s coming between them, adding to the mess on their hands and stomachs. 

Jensen leans his head on Harry’s shoulder for a minute to catch his breath, and then he reaches over and grabs a handful of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall and hands a few to Harry. 

“Thanks, mate,” Harry says. He gives Jensen a quick grin as they clean themselves off and then Harry bumps Jensen over with his hip to get at the sink. It’s quiet for a minute when they wash up, and Jensen can feel Harry’s eyes on him in the mirror. 

“What?” Jensen asks as he looks up. 

Harry smiles and quirks an eyebrow at him. “Nothing. Just had an… unexpectedly good night is all.”

Jensen is speechless for a second, because honestly, is this kid even real? But the strangest thing is Jensen actually thinks he _is_ and it just – it’s just good, is all. It’s different, but good, he thinks. 

They leave the men’s room together, shoulders bumping a little as they walk, and then they’re walking out of the bar and heading into the cool night air. Jensen doesn’t know what to say, really. _It was nice to meet you_ seems kind of formal to say to the guy who just had his mouth around your dick, but Jensen doesn’t know if this is supposed to mean anything – or if he even wants it to. 

“So, all right,” Harry says. He’s stopped walking and is shaking his hair out of his face again, but it doesn’t look stupid to Jensen anymore, it’s just Harry. It’s what Harry does and how he is, and Jensen realizes he’s more than a little fine with that. “Give me your mobile,” Harry says and holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers around a little. 

“My what?”

“Your mobile,” Harry answers, rolling his eyes. “Your cell phone, whatever you call it.”

“Oh.” Jensen feels his mouth curving into a smile without even thinking about it. He’s realizing that’s happened a lot tonight around Harry, the whole smiling thing. He fumbles in his pocket, pulling his phone out and handing it over when Harry wiggles his fingers around some more. 

“All right,” Harry says after he’s punched in a bunch of numbers. “I don’t really know what your situation is or anything, but, I don’t know.” He shrugs again and grins, handing Jensen his phone back and shoving his hands deep in his pocket. “There’s my number in any case if you ever want to, I don’t know, go listen to music or something, yeah? But don’t worry if you don’t,” he adds hastily. “Just. I’ll leave it up to you to ring me if you ever want.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says slowly. He thumbs his phone open and flips through the contacts until he sees _H. Styles_ sitting comfortably in the middle of the list. “I’ll do that,” he says, and Harry smiles. 

“Good,” Harry says. He takes a step backward and waves a little as he goes. “I’ll talk to you soon then, yeah?” 

Jensen looks back down at the number and then up at Harry and makes sure to press save, so he doesn’t lose it. “Yeah,” Jensen calls out, and Harry grins so wide and bright Jensen can see it even as he gets farther and farther away. “Yeah, you will,” he says, and smiles back.

 

-end-


End file.
